morning sun
shining through
the old forest
I sit in the shadow side
of the lazy moon
lingering.....
as the sun
touches the clouds
around it

one side
of the trees
lit by the sun
moon chill
on the other

shanna

http://www.myspace.com/vinceandthevipers

some music from down under

It strikes me you all, y'all outlaw poets maybelieve time, the concrete, the recordable, may meansomething. I inform you, via Twain, all that is shit. Stabilities you thot existed do not exist. Mr. Jackknew this. Cassady smelled this, before Jack, with j.the next day. We all face breath, inhale, life. What to do with it? Jack knew. Give oneself all the comforts onedisires. All the pleasures. Then. That's up to you. sam flavor.

snow globe

Snow Globe

Wiry haired Nick on my left,
the one yet to die in a plane crash,
and John, once-lover,
now friend, on my right,
hold me in our giddy weave
through the snow bombed Boston Commons.

Christmas Eve...
our futures still stretched out ahead of us
on some gypsy's palm.

We kiss where the sidewalks meet.
Nick's mouth tastes of weed,
John's of some sweet sticky punch.
My laugh slices the dark like a laser.
A star loosens; falls.

I wish this night
might become a snow globe
to take home and shake
on some other Christmas Eve.
I want to see us again,
we three on this holy night
high and shivering,
young and invincible,
as we dance to the last tinkling
strains of Liebestraum.

Pris Campbell

at summer's end
acorns litter the ground
a harvest moon

john daleiden

Shanna Baldwin Moore, circa 1960.
To shanna
the wind
the sea
sun air
you
unashamed
blend inwith
the elements
becomepart of it
and then
disappear
into the sand--

eric 1960

This evening endless in its own end
has combined its colors
creating an image
on contact
I am lost to its legends
and as I sit by the surf
I am carried into a world
full of deep
down deeper
not drowning
but descending
into life
the life and legend
are mine now
I live here and now
I am a legend
known only to me
created by me
therefor must end
for I am
and I too
must end...
-- Shanna baldwin 1960In response to erics poem of me dissapearingInto the sand

Roscoe Weathers

Roscoe often dropped in

we had a few philosophical conversations.

He didn't need a journal to write poetry in,

some people are just "poetic"

his life was his poem...

a life commited to HIP!

an accomplished musician who could play flute,

and reed instruments,

he could make music as he walked along using his throat,

his whistle, and a way he had of trilling his lips,

he played "Swingin' Shepard Blues" for me,

he didn't need an instrument.

I was impressed by this man,

and it wasn't his music,

it was his COOL,

Roscoe Weathers

was/is

one of the COOLEST CATS I've ever known...

Vinci, Mullumbimby,Australia

strange fruit

the Lady singing the blues..
still tasting
the midnight air

shanna

Tonys laugh

the quick draw kid

collage artist

the warmth in our cellar

his guffaw

shook the walls

his words softened

the hardest blow

he brought us

to the edge of a poem

spinning a web

as he leaped into the mix

phillosophising

to Stus

what ifs.....

over morning coffee

blowing a poem

warmth in our hearts

shanna--

from down under

winter
the night was cold,
but I survived
hot water bottle
by my side
( a lone mans bride)

morning
brings warmth
sun on my skin
life is mine
I smile
(a lone mans reward)

Vinci..

he wanted

HE WANTED

he wanted to
give her
something special

not just any
ordinary gift

so he built her
a house on a hill
facing east
& shaded
by a variety
of trees

just down the
sloping hill
he planted her
an orchard

he began in the center
& planted a cherry tree

not just any cherry tree
but one from his
childhood memories

a tree that bore
yellow cherries
for many years
even though
its trunk had been
split in half
by lightning

so he asked the spirits
he believed in
to split this tree
he had just planted
by lightning
just as the tree
from his memories
had been

& the spirits
blessed this tree
as he had asked
them to do

then he planted
red cherry trees
apple & orange trees
peach trees
then circled the orchard
with pear trees

her favorite fruit

below the house
& orchard
he filled a
green meadow
with wildflowers

he broke off a large
chunk of his heart
& sprinkled it
throughout
this meadow
of green grass &
wildflowers

knowing the spring rains
would make his love
for only her
blossom & grow

but she was displeased
with his efforts
with unfounded
jealousy
& burned it all down
with a fury
beyond belief

& when the smoke
had drifted away
with the winds

his love for her
died because the
spring rains came
too late.

F.N. Wright

a staccato burst from an automatic weapon... (MY MIND).

funny, today I'm an old man
and I'm looking back,
at the things I left behind
and wondering how I survived
when so many others did not.

sometimes when I go inside,
when I reach deep inside my
...my soul? is that my soul?
or just memories?

anyway,sometimes I find things
I didn't know where there,
a collage of faces, places,and promises
from my past.

I'm amazed at the flow,
once the reminiscence is turned on.
the spirit of "The Venice West" LIVES!

or as Bill Margolis said;
"...you TOUCHED me,...& thanx"...

Vinci...Vince Beck,
Mullumbimby,Aus.

the beat

this paper and pen
laying on my bed
looking through
drift glass and grey moss
into the forest
the birds say good morning
as I blow this poem
with the rythmn of the universe
and sip my cup of me
thinking of the poets
over morning coffee
black ink blots
on the tables
"Venice West"
the launching pad
for a million songs
on the beach
the heart pounding drums
give birth
to the Beat
a new generation
of hope
for our future

shanna

yr gonna dig this...victor bent

check out me friend here.....

http://profile.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=user.viewprofile&friendid=200848109
--
http://hawaiian-poet-tree.blogspot.com/
http://www.photoshow.com/watch/RQ9Ec3Kj

dealing
death n doom
the drum rolls
thundering
over the burm
the devil dances
as he steals
another soul

shanna

CREATION

sending smoke
sharing my spot
wishing well
to the world

transform
the ways of "Ku"*
the warrior
to "Lono"
the planter of seeds

the timber
of the land
sounds of children
creation

listen to a tree
it gurgles
a vine giggles
and the fruit sings

shanna

वेअल्थ ऑफ़ इन्फो अत थिस सीते

http://profile.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=user.viewprofile&friendid=200848109

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